


The Lucians

by MathClassWarfare



Series: This Ain’t No Party [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Absent Parents, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Bad Parenting, Canon Related, College, Gen, Guns, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Slash, Secret Crush, Spies & Secret Agents, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: Prompto's parents have been keeping secrets from him his entire life. Now he's finally learning the truth, and it changes everything.





	1. The Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [How to Make iOS Text Messages on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845) by [CodenameCarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameCarrot/pseuds/CodenameCarrot), [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza). 



He bursts through the door to his house, calling out as soon as he crosses the threshold. 

“Mom? Dad?” 

There’s no answer. The house is dark, and it’s quiet except for the drumming of rain on the windows and roof. 

Prompto flings off his shoes, drops his open umbrella in the middle of the floor, and drapes his soggy jacket over it. Then he scrambles to his parents’ bedroom.  

He’s just sprinted home and his heart is racing. 

Prompto is digging through drawers looking for . . . something. Anything that will give him an answer. Or the right questions. He doesn’t know.  

He’s moving fast. Closing one drawer while opening the next.  

He’s supposed to be home alone until the weekend, but he’s not taking any chances. 

* 

As far back as he can remember, Prompto’s parents were never around much.  

They’re independent public relations agents. Fixers. Celebrities and corporations hire them to smooth over social media gaffes, ill-advised advertising campaigns, and sex scandals.  

The work means long, irregular hours. When Prompto was a kid they would be gone until late at night, long after a child should be asleep.  

At an early age, Prompto learned self-sufficiency. Every day he would come home from school, feed himself dinner, do his homework without anyone else reminding him to, and finally—bleary eyed from playing video games too close to the television—he would put himself to bed.  

As Prompto got older, they would go out of town for days at a time. Sometimes they would be gone for weeks. 

He once stayed with an aunt, his mother’s sister, who he had never met before. His parents brought him to a little house just outside the wall. They were on their way somewhere or another, for work. 

They introduced him to his aunt and left him there for the weekend. He had a wonderful time. They played board games and ate grilled cheese sandwiches. She was nice to him and laughed at his jokes.  

He was so happy to meet a family member besides his parents. He was dazzled by the idea that this person knew his mom when she was young, and knew his parents as a couple before they adopted him. 

When his parents came to pick him up, and they were saying goodbye, his aunt gave him a long, warm hug.  

He never saw her again after that. Eventually, he stopped asking about her. 

* 

Prompto’s finished searching his parents bedroom. He hasn’t found anything out of the ordinary, not even porn, to his immense relief.  

He returns to the living room and peers out the window. Rain is coming down in heavy sheets, forming into shallow rivers and flowing down the street. 

Nobody’s outside. No cars. 

He spins on his heels and notices the couch. He pulls off the cushions, and starts digging.  

* 

They were never big on explaining things, or talking much at all. They especially didn’t like to talk about themselves. Prompto made up for this by talking a lot.  

After his visit outside the wall, he had questions about their extended family. He’d never met his grandparents or any other family members. 

He also didn't know anything about his parents’ childhood, other than that they were both born here in Insomnia. He didn’t know anything about their life before they adopted him, aside from the fact that they met at school.  

They always found a way to change the subject whenever Prompto asked for more details about their lives. They were also skilled in the art of answering his questions without actually giving him any information. 

Over time, he stopped asking. He stopped hoping for visitors to appear on the doorstep. 

* 

All Prompto finds is change, which he shoves in his pocket before putting the couch back together.  

He turns to the tv console, which has lots of cubbies to put things in. He opens movie and game cases and checks behind the covers. He shakes books by their bindings to see if anything falls out.  

* 

A little over a year ago, Prompto and Noctis took the train to a neighborhood on the other side of the City, where they didn’t normally go.  

One of their favorite comic book artists had an in-store appearance that day. It was a Wednesday, new comic book day. It was the release of the first hardcover volume of her indie comic—a critically-acclaimed anti-war space opera—and she was signing copies. 

While they were waiting in line, Prompto caught a glimpse of someone familiar across the street. There was something about his gait as he made his way down the sidewalk. The man looked just like his dad, but with glasses and different hair.  

He wanted to follow the man, but Noctis convinced him stay and wait in line with him. 

Prompto remembers Noctis grabbing his hand, looking at him with wide puppy eyes and pouting. 

If he didn’t have such a big stupid crush on his best friend he would have probably run off and followed the guy. Instead, he agreed that it was just someone who looked a lot like his dad, who was supposedly out of town at the time.  

Now, he’s pretty sure that was his dad. 

* 

In the dining room, there’s a small cabinet stuffed full of greeting cards. Prompto opens them one by one.  

* 

On his eighth birthday, the three of them were sitting around the table, about to eat dinner, when the phone rang.  

His parents always answered the phone when it rang, no matter what they were doing. 

His mom told him it was a work emergency. An angry client in Lestallum. She apologized to Prompto, kissed him on the top of his head, and rushed out of the house before he’d even blown out the candles on his birthday cake.  

* 

Prompto puts the greeting cards back where he found them and shuffles through the stack of paper piled up on the fax machine.  

* 

It’s been there since Prompto was a kid, and he isn’t supposed to mess with it.  

One time, he got into a lot of trouble for throwing out a fax. It was some kind of promotion from a travel agency. He’d been cleaning up around the house before his parents got home, and the fax didn't seem important.  

His dad was surprised that they didn’t have any faxes, so Prompto explained that he’d thrown something out. 

His parents were so upset. They yelled at him and made him sit in his room. He couldn’t understand what the big deal was. Through his open bedroom window, he could hear his mother digging through the recycling bin. 

He knew to leave the fax machine alone after that. He wasn’t supposed to even look at the faxes. It was one of those rules—like wearing his wristband—that he was supposed to obey without getting an adequate explanation.  

Last week, he couldn’t help noticing a fax come through with the name of a restaurant printed at the top. It was a curry place in Noctis’s neighborhood where Ignis had taken them once. Kinda bougie, but the food was amazing. 

The message confirmed a dinner reservation for three on Wednesday of the following week. However, his parents were planning to be out of town that entire week. Naturally, he assumed they were going to surprise him by coming home early and taking him out to dinner.  

* 

Right now, there are no clues in the fax tray. Prompto looks around for somewhere else to search.  

Then it hits him.  

The closet next to the laundry room is a lot shallower than you’d expect. He’s always thought that was weird.  

He heads to the laundry room. 

* 

Prompto woke up this morning in a good mood. He ran three miles in the rain and it felt like nothing. 

All day, he waited expectantly for a call or a text from his parents inviting him to dinner. 

As it got later and later, his mood darkened. He thought maybe they sent him a text and he just never got it. That happens sometimes, right? 

So he went to the restaurant. 

The host looked bored and annoyed as she explained that there was no reservation for Argentum. They don’t even take reservations.  

When he mentioned the confirmation fax she raised her eyebrows, tipped her head forward and said, “You’re joking right? A fax?”  

Prompto left the restaurant and stood on the sidewalk, feeling confused and embarrassed. He couldn’t figure out why someone would send his parents a fake fax about a dinner reservation.  

He texted Noctis. 

**Prompto:** No family dinner  
  
**Prompto:** You busy?  
  
**Noct:** Come over  
  
**Prompto:** K  
  


He was walking across a pedestrian bridge in the park when he heard his mother’s voice. “Weren’t you in Lestallum in January?” 

A voice he didn’t recognize answered, “No, but I was in Altissa in November.” 

Then he heard his father say “Altissa is beautiful in the fall.” 

The voices dropped to a low murmur. They were in the tunnel below.  

He opened his mouth to call out to them, but decided against it. Something weird was going on. 

He silenced his phone and texted Noctis that he wasn’t coming over. Then he crouched down, and waited.  

After about ten minutes, his parents left the tunnel. He watched them walk down the path and through a gate, exiting the park. 

Their hair looked different. His dad was wearing glasses. 

Prompto jumped down to the lower path and sprinted to the gate. He spotted them half a block away, on the other side of the street. 

Then the rain started back up again. 

He didn’t risk opening his sparkly moogle umbrella. It wouldn’t be very stealthy. 

He pulled up the hood of his coat and tried to blend in with the crowd. It felt like an Assassin’s Creed game. 

After a few blocks his dad turned off into an alley. Prompto continued to follow his mom until she descended into the subway. 

Prompto was completely soaked, but he still opened his umbrella as he turned back towards home. 

* 

In the laundry room, there’s a circuit breaker on the wall adjacent to the too-shallow closet. He opens the panel and studies its insides. 

Prompto notices that five of the switches look slightly worn, like they’ve been flipped more often than the others. These are the third, fifth, and tenth switches from the top on the left side, and the second and fifth switches from the top on the right side. 

He shuffles through these numbers in his head for a moment until he realizes that it's his birthday.  

_No way they straight-up used my birthday as a secret code._  He decides to flip the numbers around.  

On the left side, he pushes five, three, and then ten. On the right side, he pushes five and then two.  

He hears a click. _Bingo._

A panel pops away from the wall and Prompto swings it open to reveal the rest of the closet.  

On a shelf, he finds a small laptop, headphones, a notebook and a sharp #2 pencil.  

The laptop is password-protected and he knows it will log his failed attempts so he doesn’t even try. 

He opens the notebook and finds long strings of numbers. He can’t make any sense of them. 

There’s a duffel bag on the floor at the bottom of the closet. Prompto sits down to look through it.  _Bug-out bag_ , he thinks, pulling out several pairs of socks. 

He also finds underwear, three sweatshirts that he vaguely recognizes, a pair of jeans in each of their sizes, some granola bars, a wad of cash, and passports for three people he doesn’t know. 

At the bottom of the bag, wrapped in a handkerchief, he finds a gun.  

With his heart pounding in his chest and shaky hands, Prompto puts everything back the way he found it. 

His ears are ringing. If he stays in the house a moment longer, he’s going to explode.  

He doesn’t stop to pick up his coat or umbrella before he’s standing outside, letting the rain wash over him, thinking about what is real and what is not.


	2. True Things

On Saturday, Prompto stays home. He wants to make sure to be there when his parents arrive. 

He told Noctis that he was feeling shitty, so he could't come over to watch cheesy old horror movies. This pains him. Prompto would love nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, and his best friend clinging to him with every jump scare.  

He wasn’t lying though. He’s feeling really, really shitty.  

Prompto waits at the dining room table in front of his open stats textbook. He’s not really studying though. He’s thinking about what he’s going to say to them. 

When his mom and dad arrive, they’re wearing serious expressions. He realizes that they must have spotted him the other day, despite his efforts to be stealthy. 

They sit down at the table across from him, and his mother gently places both her hands on top of his. 

“Prompto . . ." 

His father’s brow is wrinkled with concern. The look that he gives his wife is almost desperate.  

She breathes in as if to speak, but Prompto beats her to it. 

“I want you to tell me the truth.” 

She lets out a long sigh. “Okay.” 

Prompto’s dad turns to look at him. His words are tentative. “We know that you probably have a lot of questions for us.”  

“You think?!” Prompto’s pupils flare. 

His mother gives him a severe look, and he apologizes for interrupting. 

“But first. . .” his dad continues, softly, “we want to say that the most important true thing is that we are your family.”   

He rests one hand on top of his wife’s hands, which are holding Prompto’s hands, and squeezes. “We love you very much.”  

Prompto looks at them, one and then the other. In a quiet voice, he asks, “Then why did you lie to me?”  

His parents look away, ashamed. He pulls his hands back and crosses his arms. 

His voice rises in volume as he finally asks the questions that have been tumbling around in his head. 

"Why did you say that you were going out of town when you were here in Insomnia? Why were you in disguise? What have you been doing?”  

He leans forward, out of his chair, hands on the table in front of him. "Who are you?!” 

His mom meets his glare with her own. 

“That’s quite enough.” she says in a clipped tone. “You need to calm down so that we can have this conversation.”  

Prompto jumps to his feet, waving his arms in the air. 

“I have to CALM DOWN?! I just found out that my parents have some secret other life, are probably criminals, and you want me to calm down!?” 

His father stands up, crosses to the other side of the table and wraps his arms around Prompto. “Son, please. Let us explain.”  

Prompto feels his rage dissipate as he sinks into the hug. 

He exhales. “Okay . . .”  

His mother’s expression softens when they all sit back down. 

“We're not from this country. We’re from Niflheim.” His father pauses, to let that sink in. 

Prompto squeezes his eyebrows together in confusion. He’s met immigrants from Niflheim before. It’s not so unusual.  

“Why lie about that?” 

His dad hesitates, searching for some guidance from his wife. She gives a small nod. 

“Because . . .” his voice is gravely serious. “We work for our country.” 

“What?” Prompto gasps. “Like spies?” 

He’s feeling dizzy. He tightly grasps the sides of his chair. 

“We gather information.” His mother continues, carefully. “To help people back home.” 

“What does that mean?” Prompto’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. “What kind of information?” 

His parents exchange another glance before she continues. 

“All kinds of things. We try to find out what this country is doing that would hurt people back home. Or people beyond the wall.” 

The kingdom of Lucis is much bigger than the Crown City. Prompto can think of some things the government should be doing for the people out there—which he’s told Noctis more than once—but he certainly doesn’t think Lucians are the bad guys.  

“What . . .” He struggles to focus his thoughts. “What does Lucis do to hurt people beyond the wall?”  

“They do nothing to protect the people. From beasts, daemons, or poverty.” His mother frowns. “They hoard the power of their crystal, and their monarchs, behind a wall where only the privileged few in the Crown City can benefit.” 

This is an argument Prompto has heard before. And it’s hard to argue with it. He thinks King Regis tries to protect his people, but there’s only so much magic to go around. 

His mother is animated. He hasn’t seen her speak so passionately about anything before. 

“Our country can help _all_ of the people, including the Lucians who live beyond the wall.”  

“So . . .” Prompto presses his hands against his cheeks, leaning hard on his elbows. “What . . . exactly . . . do you do?”  

His dad frowns a little. “Like your mother said, we find out information.” 

Prompto swings his hands out in exasperation, splaying his fingers. This was not an answer. 

“We take on other identities, and change our appearance to meet with people—sources—who give us information.” 

“The guy at the park . . .” 

“Yes.” 

“Do they know?”  

His mother purses her lips thoughtfully. 

“Yes,” she says finally. “Many of them know. Some pretend that they don’t. That makes it easier for them. Some probably don’t know.” 

“Is it dangerous?” 

Both of them nod.  

“It is,” his mom touches her husband's shoulder, “but we know how to keep ourselves safe. You don’t need to worry.” 

Prompto thinks about what he found in the laundry room. He shivers involuntarily. 

“Do you ever have to . . . hurt anyone?” 

His mother quickly shakes her head. 

His father says, “No, Prompto. We don’t do that.” 

“Good,” Prompto finally exhales, wanting to believe them. 

“We’ve been planning to tell you all of this, when the time was right.” His father’s expression is caring, and earnest. “It’s been so hard not telling you about the work that we do, and where we come from.” 

Prompto fiddles with his wristband. “And what about where I come from?”  

“You’re also from Niflheim.” His mom gently places her hand on his right wrist, pushing aside the wristband. “That mark on your wrist means that you were part of an important training program.”  

Prompto looks at the barcode. He’s had it his entire life, as far as he can remember. His parents never explained it to him before. They just said it was there when they got him, and told him to keep it covered up.  

Prompto thinks this is starting to sound like the plot of a comic book, or maybe a video game. Babies training to be super-soldiers. So cliché. 

“If it was so great, why didn’t I stay in the program?” 

“Well . . .” his mother slides her hand away and brushes some dust off the corner of the table. “Someone kidnapped you when you were a baby, and brought you here. They were a spy for Lucis.” 

“Luckily,” his father adds, “that person secretly worked for our country.” 

“Like a double agent?” Prompto’s seen spy movies. 

“Sure,” his mom smiles at him, “and they made sure we got to be your foster parents.” She squeezes his hand again. 

“But why? What does Lucis, or Niflheim, want with me?” 

“You’re special, sweetie. They wanted to learn about you.” 

Prompto looks at the barcode again. He thinks back to the fancy clinic near the citadel they used to go to. It wasn’t their usual doctor’s office, but he had a checkup there each year before school started.  

“They were doing tests on me?!” 

“Yes,” his dad says in a sympathetic tone, “that was part of the deal. To have you join our family, we had to bring you in for yearly medical examinations.” 

“But,” his mother adds, “they didn’t know our colleague was sending all of that information to the people back home.” 

She smiles. “You contributed to the program, even though you didn’t go through it yourself.” 

It makes Prompto’s skin crawl to think about government doctors looking at his medical records.   

“Prompto . . .” His dad reaches across the table again. “It’s very important that you don’t tell anyone about this. Not your friends, not your teachers. Nobody.” He studies his son’s face. “Your mom and I could go to jail.” 

Prompto just nods, still staring at the barcode. He feels like the ground is liquifying beneath him. 

“I understand.” 


	3. Recoil

Sunlight filters in through thin curtains. It’s past 9:00.  

Prompto stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, wishing that he could stop time.  

He can't go out into the world and act like he didn’t just learn that his entire life has been a lie. He’s not even ready to go downstairs, where he can hear his parents washing the breakfast dishes.  

They never eat breakfast at home. 

He texts one of his co-workers, who agrees to cover for him at the bookstore. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask why. 

He thinks about texting Noctis, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

He thinks about the gun hidden in the bottom of a duffel bag, in a secret compartment, inside his house. It makes his stomach churn. 

When he found it, it was the first time he’d touched a real gun. He’s got plenty of experience with fake guns, from playing countless shooting games, but he’s never shot a real one. He wonders what he would do if he ever had to pick one up. He decides that he’d better learn how to use it.  

On his phone, he searches for shooting ranges in Insomnia. There’s one, a really long bus ride away. The introductory class is expensive, but he can probably swing it with what he’s saved up from work.  

He’s considering whether to roll out of bed when he gets a text from Noctis. 

**Noctis:** Where you at?  
  
**Prompto:** Not on campus today :/  
  
**Noctis:**???  
  
**Prompto:** Still feel shitty  
  
**Noctis:** Sux  
  
**Noctis:** Need anything?  
  
**Prompto:** Awww thx buddy!  
  
**Prompto:** I’m fine tho  
  
**Noctis:** Ok lmk if you do  
  
**Prompto:** (Thumbs Up Sign ≊ Thumbs Up)   
  
**Noctis:** Miss you :p  
  
**Prompto:** :p  
  


Here come the butterflies, right on schedule.  Prompto grimaces and tries to squash them. 

He has no shortage of crushes, but this one is problematic. And it’s not just because Noctis is the heir to the throne. The bigger problem is that Noctis is one of the most important people in Prompto’s life. He doesn’t want to drive his best friend away by accidentally flirting with him or, even worse, confessing his feelings, and making things awkward. 

Prompto misses Noctis too. But it would be a disaster if he came over right now, so he doesn’t say so.  

He readies himself to go downstairs. 

— 

Prompto’s parents stay home all day, which is unheard of. They don’t mention the fact that Prompto was supposed to have class and work, but has been playing video games instead.  

His dad is cooking again. He made omelettes for breakfast. He made Prompto a sandwich for lunch. Now he’s making green vegetable curry for dinner.  

The phone has been ringing a lot and his mom seems stressed. She probably has other things she should be doing today. 

When they’re sitting down for dinner and his mother is ladling curry onto everyone’s plates, Prompto finally brings up the subject that’s been haunting him for days. 

“Is there a gun in the house?” 

His parents exchange a long look—a wordless conversation—before his dad says, “Yes, there is. Locked up in a safe place. For emergencies." 

Prompto is relieved that they didn’t lie. He wonders if they can tell that he already found the gun, and if that’s why they’re telling him the truth. Maybe he put something back wrong. 

"I thought you said you don’t hurt people, why do you need a gun?” He takes a bite of rice and curry. It’s delicious. 

His mother looks like she's trying to be patient with him, her lips pushed together in a thin line. 

She takes a deep breath. “We don’t hurt people, but there are people who want to hurt us.” She pauses to sip her water. “We need to be able to defend ourselves.” 

Prompto has images of spies or hitmen sneaking into the house at night. Soldiers kicking in the door. He pushes some food around on his plate. 

“So . . . what am I supposed to do if . . .”  

His father reaches across the table and places a reassuring hand on his arm. “You don’t have to do anything, Prompto. Nobody is going to come after you.” 

His mom adds, “We do think it would be a good for you to learn about self defense, and gun safety, too.” 

She stands up to refill the water pitcher. “But you can’t go to a shooting range. It could attract attention.”  

Prompto realizes then—to his absolute horror—that his parents monitor his internet usage. Of course they do. He remembers some of the more embarrassing selections from his recent browser history and feels his face turning red. He takes another bite of food and stares down at his plate. 

His mother raises her voice so that they can hear her over the running faucet. “We can teach you some things. About how to defend yourself, just in case." 

Prompto, still chewing, nods emphatically.  

“You have to listen to us though.” She refills their glasses and sits back down. “You have to follow all of our instructions completely. No arguing.”  

“Okay . . .” Prompto feels uneasy, like he’s sinking into quicksand.  

— 

The next morning, they go to a historic movie theater in a gentrifying neighborhood and buy tickets to an all-day monster movie marathon. 

Prompto runs through the details of the plan they tried to drill into his head the day before. 

Once they’re sitting in the dark theater and the first movie has started, Prompto’s mother gives him an almost-imperceptible nod. He gets up and goes to the bathroom. 

Out of sight, he pulls a hoodie out of his backpack and puts it on, tugging the hood over his head. He slips out a back exit and walks through the alley, across a street, through another alley, and around the corner to a coffee shop. He buys a coffee and sits at a table outside.  

After about thirty minutes, a car pulls up to the stop sign at the corner, right outside the coffee shop. Prompto gets into the back seat. His mom is at the wheel, wearing a wig and a different outfit.  

They drive another block and Prompto’s dad gets in the car. He’s also changed his appearance since they arrived at the theater. 

He hands his son a pair of sunglasses with opaque black lenses. Prompto puts them on and can’t see anything. He has to leave them on until they arrive at their destination.  

Prompto squints at the sunlight when he takes off the glasses. They’re parked outside a brick warehouse near train tracks and a freeway overpass. Industrial buildings surround them on all sides, and Prompto has no idea where in the city they could be. 

Between the incessant roar of car traffic and the clanging and whooshing of passing trains, it’s the perfect place to make noise undetected.  

The three of them go back to the warehouse every day for the remainder of the week. Each morning, they go somewhere else first: a mall, a library, a natural history museum, and a sprawling woodland park. Then they each change their appearance, leave separately, and meet back up to go to the warehouse. 

They never let Prompto see the way there. They say this is to protect him. The more he knows, the more he will be at risk. 

For five days, Prompto’s parents teach him how to fall, how to fight with his fists and his feet, how to dodge and how to take a hit. They teach him how to disarm an opponent, and they teach him how to shoot. 

The gun is heavy. It’s a real weapon, nothing like at the arcade. It can take a life. Prompto feels the weight of this responsibility. He intends to take it seriously.  

He pays attention to his parents’ instructions. He's careful and deliberate. The recoil is a surprise, an alien feeling that leaves his hands tingling and his heart racing. It’s exhilarating. Eventually, he gets the hang of it, and he’s good. His parents praise him for his skill, and marvel at how fast he’s learning. 

Prompto feels conflicted about training with his parents.  

On the one hand, it’s kind of great. They’ve never really had a shared activity before this. They didn’t go on outings, or family vacations. They didn’t even watch movies or play board games together. Now they’re hanging out and he’s connecting with them in a new way. He’s getting to know them better. 

On the other hand, Prompto feels like what he’s doing is very wrong. He’s sneaking around and shooting a gun in a secret Niflheim spy warehouse.  

He feels like he’s fallen into a river, rushing to a place he doesn’t want to go, but now he’s caught in the current and there’s no turning back. 


	4. Quicksand

It’s Saturday after a week of missed classes. Prompto’s co-workers are probably getting annoyed that he keeps asking them to cover for him. He hasn’t seen Noctis and they’ve hardly talked. 

He’d never mentioned to his parents that his best friend is the Prince of Lucis, because that’s not what’s important. It’s not why they’re friends. ‘Noct' is a common enough name, too. He can think of at least one other person at their school named Noctis, a couple of Nocturnes, and a Nocturna.  

He’s afraid of what his parents might say—or do—to his best friend once they realize that he’s the actual Prince and not one of the many Insomnian babies named after him.  

He also has no idea what he’s going to say when Noctis inevitably asks what’s been up with him lately. He doesn’t want to lie to his best friend, but he can’t tell him the truth either.  

He’s running out of excuses to keep him from coming over.   

He’s been saying that he has to do extra credit because of all the classes he’s missed. This is true. Prompto has to maintain a B+ average to keep his scholarship at Lucis U, and all of his professors factor attendance and participation into their grades.  

The Prince has automatic admission and a free ride because his ancestors founded the University. He cannot be expelled.  

In contrast, Prompto had to work his ass off to get in. He graduated in the top 10 percent of his class. He was on the track team, president of the photography club, and on the yearbook staff. All while defending his high score rankings at the arcade. So far, college hasn’t been much different. He doesn’t get a lot of sleep. 

He can’t go to class and face Noctis and everybody else, so he’s writing essays. Performance of identity in Kings Knight fandom. Crafting as an anti-capitalist art form. Historic gender roles in the Niflheim military. He’s also doing a statistical analysis of the Crown’s favorability rating by ward and income-level. (Spoilers: It’s not pretty.) 

It’s a beautiful day and Noctis had suggested that they hang out in the park. Prompto told him that he still felt like shit, which is true. His stomach has been in knots from the stress, and he’s had hardly any appetite, so he’s lightheaded. 

When Noctis asked—for probably the hundredth time—if he needed anything, and suggested that they study together, Prompto declined. He said he wasn't much fun to be around. This is also true, but he should have known that his best friend doesn’t care about that.  

He shouldn’t be so surprised to find Noctis at his door with chickatrice phở and a sheepish smile. 

He wants to give his best friend a hug, but he doesn’t. 

“Uhh . . . hey buddy. I didn’t know you were coming.”  

He steps outside in bare feet, letting the door close behind him. Noctis winces at this. Prompto feels a pang of guilt, but there's no way he can invite the Prince inside with his parents home. 

Noctis pushes the plastic takeout container, with a little bag of toppings attached by a rubberband, into Prompto’s hands. 

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d just blow me off again.” 

Prompto stares at the food, avoiding eye contact. He feels like human garbage.  

“Thanks dude, this looks delicious.” It smells delicious too. Maybe his appetite is coming back.  

“You’ve been sick for a week. I figured you could use it.” Noctis sounds genuinely concerned. 

“I’m not—” Prompto begins, but then the door opens behind him and his father’s hand is on his shoulder. _Shit!_   

“Hello there! I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet.” 

“Dad, this is Noct.” _This cannot be happening._ “He . . . brought me soup.” _Don’t invite him in!_

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Noctis . . . er . . . your Royal Highness Prince Noctis. Please come in!” 

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit!_

They shake hands. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Argentum. It’s ok, you can call me Noctis.” 

Prompto stands helplessly in the doorway as Noct squeezes past him with a puzzled expression. They’ve been friends long enough for him to know just how unusual it is for either of Prompto’s parents to be home in the middle of the day. Or any time for that matter. 

When his mother enters the room, Noctis tilts his head and shoots him a look that silently asks,  _what the fuck?_  Prompto responds with the tiniest shrug.  

His mind is reeling. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“Honey, Prince Noctis brought Prompto some phở. Isn’t that thoughtful?” 

“Thank you so much Your Higness! That is so kind. And it’s so very good to meet you.”  

“Nice to meet you too, Ms. Argentum. Please call me Noctis.” He shakes her hand. 

“It was nothing, though. I was just worried about Prompto, but I guess I didn’t need to.” 

“I’m not sick—” He tries to correct the misunderstanding, but his mom interrupts.  

“His fever just broke yesterday, thank gods, but we thought he had better stay home today for good measure.” 

She ruffles Prompto’s hair, and gestures towards the couch. “Please, have a seat. I just made tea.” 

There’s that sinking feeling again. By not correcting his mother, he’s lying to Noctis. 

He marvels at how effortlessly she can lie, and wonders what she’s still lying to _him_ about. 

He sits down on the couch with Noctis and his mom gives them two cups of tea. She returns with a cup for herself, and a photo album.  

The boys scoot over to make room for her to sit. 

“Has Prompto ever showed you these?  

Noctis grins, and visibly relaxes. “No. He hasn’t.”  

Prompto throws his head back and groans. “Noooo! Why do you want to embarrass me?!” 

His mom laughs “It’s one of the perks of being a mom. I earned it!” 

His dad joins them in the crowded living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

They all sip tea while Noctis flips through their old family photos. Here’s Prompto on a carousel in the park, perched on a bright pink chocobo, with a cone of cotton candy in his hand. Here he is on this very couch, surrounded by torn gift-wrap and ribbons, squeezing a stuffed cactaur. Here he is as a toddler sitting on a park bench, chubby legs pointed straight ahead. 

“You were such a cute kid!” Noctis pokes Prompto’s arm playfully.  

Familiar cruel whispers bubble up from the back of Prompto’s mind. 

He scowls. “I was fat.” 

Noctis throws an arm around his shoulder and says, “Stop that. You were perfect.”  

Prompto sinks into his best friend’s side and thinks he might cry.  

His parents exchange guilty looks. 

With a sad smile, his dad says, “That’s right. Listen to the Prince.”   

Noctis flips another page. “Do you ever miss wearing glasses?” 

Prompto shakes his head. “Nah. Don't like ‘em. Too easy to break, or lose.” 

Noctis laughs. “Ok, fair enough.”  

His dad stands up and walks to the kitchen, pulling out a skillet to begin cooking dinner. 

“Noctis, would you like to stay for dinner?” He calls back. ”We’re having fish.”  

“Thanks Mr. Argentum, but I have to get home. I’m supposed to have dinner with my dad.” 

“Well, another time then.” 

“Definitely.” 

Noctis pulls on his shoes and then hovers in the doorway, giving Prompto a searching look. He whispers, “Hey, are you okay?”  

Prompto feels like he’s made of tv static, his ears are buzzing with it. He puts a hand on the door-frame to keep from falling over and shakes his head.  

Noctis furrows his brow and pulls him into a hug. “Sorry I have to go right now. I’ll text you later.”  

Prompto forces himself to smile. “Okay. Bye.”  

“Later!” 

When Noctis is gone, an awkward silence hangs in the air. His mom continues to look at the photo album with a sad, faraway expression on her face. 

He pulls the phở out of the refrigerator. “I think I’m gonna eat this, if you don’t mind.”  

“Whatever you want. More fish for me.” His father drops a pat of butter into the hot skillet and swirls it around.  

Prompto pours the soup into a large bowl and microwaves it. Then he empties the bag of sliced jalapeños, fat bean sprouts, basil and cilantro on top, and squeezes in a swirl of fish sauce. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. His mouth is watering. 

“I’ll be in my room.” 

His parents don’t argue with him.  

He eats at his desk, with a textbook propped up in front of him, trying not to splash any broth on the pages. He tries to focus on his reading but other worries keep rising to the top.  

He thinks his parents will ask him to not hang out with Noctis anymore because he's the Prince of Lucis. There’s a whole Crownsguard assigned to protect the royal family, and who might want to take a close look at the Prince’s weird friend.   

Though, with the way he’s been acting lately, Noct probably won’t want to hang out with him anyway. This would be convenient, but it would make Prompto feel even worse about the whole thing.  

He decides that he’s not going to just roll over and give up his best friend. He texts Noctis before he can change his mind. 

  
**Prompto:** Thx for pho!  
  
**Noctis:** You ate it?  
  
**Prompto:** Eating  
  
**Noctis:** No prob  
  
**Noctis:** You ok?  
  
**Prompto:** :/  
  
**Noctis:** Sorry to just come over  
  
**Prompto:** Don’t be  
  
**Prompto:** I’m glad  
  
**Prompto:** Been in a funk  
  
**Noctis:** Lmk if you wanna talk  
  
**Noctis:** I’m here  
  
**Prompto:** I know  
  
**Prompto:** Thanks Noct  
  


— 

Sunday morning has Prompto staring at the ceiling again, mustering the courage to get out of bed. 

When he walks downstairs his mom is at the table reading the newspaper. His dad is in the kitchen. 

“Good morning son! Eggs?” 

“Uh. Scrambled. Thanks.” 

He pours himself some coffee and sits across from his mother. He peers at her over his mug, preparing for the worst. 

She folds her newspaper and gives him a pointed look. “Are you planning to stay home again tomorrow?”  

“I haven’t decided.” 

There’s an edge in her voice when she says, “You can’t ignore your responsibilities forever.” 

His dad joins them at the table, handing Prompto a plate of eggs, and a bottle of hot sauce. 

“Give the kid some time, he’s still processing a lot of new information.” 

“Thanks, Dad.”  

He pours on more hot sauce than he probably should.  

“No, you’re right though,” he says to his mom. “I’ll go to class tomorrow. And back to work.” 

She smiles and turns her attention back to the paper. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

His father sounds sincere when he says, “It sure was nice to meet Noctis yesterday. He seems like a really good guy.”  

“Yeah, he is . . ." Proceeding with caution, Prompto asks, “So you don’t mind that we’re friends?” 

“Not at all.” His mom shakes her head. “We’re glad that you have such a good friend.” 

“It’s just. I never mentioned that he’s the Prince.” 

His dad is half-smiling. “We, ah . . . We knew that already. It’s kinda our job.” 

Prompto rubs his face with both hands.  _Of fucking course they knew._

“It’s not a problem, son. The Kingdom of Lucis already knows all about you. They have your entire medical history. They know where you came from.” 

He looks at his father between his fingers. “They don’t know everything.” 

“And they won’t,” his dad replies gently, “as long as you don’t tell them.” 

“And you follow our advice.” His mom cautions. 

“Just give us a heads-up next time he’s coming over, okay?” His dad chuckles. 

“Or anyone else, really,” his mother adds.  “We just ask that you keep us in the loop.” 

Prompto nods. 

“We know you’re an adult now, but I think you’ll agree that our circumstances are unique.”  

“Yeah,” he responds with a soft laugh.  

His mom stands to top off their coffees and then sits down again. 

“Just let us know what you’re up to.” 

“Okay . . .” 

“Who you’re with. What you’re doing. That kind of thing.” 

Prompto’s sinking again. He’s gone too deep, and now he’s a source.


	5. No Dancing!

Running is the best thing to clear the clutter from Prompto’s mind, so he can really think. 

He prefers to run through the city, taking advantage of wide sidewalks and park paths to watch the early morning light stretch its fingers across Insomnia. 

The track on campus will do in a pinch. 

By the seventh lap, he’s flying. He feels light, bouncing off the rubber track, propelled forward effortlessly, hypnotized by the rhythm of his heartbeat and his footfalls. 

Lately, his parents have been asking him lots of questions. It happens every time he walks through the door because they’re always home. 

He suggested that their celebrity clients were probably missing them, and they assured him that their employees had everything under control. 

_Eight_

Prompto figures that they’ll be able to tell if he lies to them, because he’s not good at it like they are. So he’s been answering their questions truthfully and he’s tried his best not to volunteer anything more. 

The problem is that they’re always asking about Noctis. Everything he’s told them is perfectly mundane, but it still feels like a betrayal. They’re Niflheim spies, after all. 

He wonders if they already know the answers to the questions they ask him, and if it’s all some kind of test of his loyalty. 

Maybe he’s been recording everything around him and doesn’t even know it. 

_Nine_

He took his phone apart to check for bugs, using online tutorials and videos. He didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, but he’s no expert. 

The touchscreen has been a little less responsive since he put it back together, which is very annoying. 

Every morning before leaving the house, he’s scrutinized his backpack, boots, jacket and camera—everything he carries with him regularly—to make sure nothing’s changed. He looked for extra pieces, seams or bulges that weren’t there before. 

So far he hasn’t found anything, but that doesn’t put him at ease. 

These people are professionals. 

_Ten_

Prompto allows his legs to carry him halfway around the track again before telling them to slow. 

He waves at some classmates kicking a ball in the athletic field as he jogs another lap to cool down. 

He’s come to realize that his parents are recruiting him, and they want him to spy on Noctis. 

He has to find a way out.  

— 

The booming voice of Prompto’s boss carries throughout the campus bookstore in a teasing singsong. “Mr Ar- _genn_ -tum! Your prince is here!” 

Prompto puts down the armful of books that he was carrying and wipes his hands on his pants. 

He walks to the front of the store, where Noctis is leaning against the glass counter that supports their cash registers and displays overpriced gifts.  

“Hey!” 

“Hi.” Noctis seems tired, which isn’t unusual. “Hi, Dex!” he calls towards the back of the store. 

“Your Highness!” the store owner replies, with a small salute and mock seriousness.  

Noctis rolls his eyes but a smile twitches at one corner of his mouth. 

Dex looks like he’s working back there at his computer, but Prompto knows he’s probably bidding on vintage hats. He’s wearing one such hat right now, and totally rocking it. 

He knows he can get away with slacking off and talking to Noctis at the register. This is truly the best job on campus. 

He leans over the counter across from Noctis. “What’s up?”  

The wry smile fades and Noctis takes a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

Prompto goes cold. _Does he know?_ He says nothing.  

Noctis isn’t looking at him. He’s looking down into the glass case, at some pen inlaid with the school’s crest. 

“I want to tell you, before it’s in the news . . . I’m getting married.” 

Prompto thinks his heart stops for a moment. “What?” 

Noctis looks up at him then, squinting one eye, like he’s in pain. 

“It’s political. I can’t tell you all the details, only that I’m going to marry Luna.” 

Prompto doesn’t know what to say. He wasn't expecting this. 

He’s also a little surprised to find that he’s so upset. It’s not like he ever had any kind of chance with Noctis. He’s the godsdamned Prince and heir to the Kingdom of Lucis.  

So he just says, “Wow . . .” His voice is quiet. He feels very small. 

Noctis sniffs in a shallow breath. “I hope . . . this doesn’t change anything between us.” 

Prompto asks, “Why would it?” He thinks, _How could it not?_

Noctis looks flustered, embarrassed maybe. “I . . .“ his eyes dart around before landing on the magazine rack. “Never mind.”  

Prompto wants to reach across the counter and touch his best friend’s face. He doesn’t.  

He forces himself to smile. “Well congrats! Luna seems awesome.” 

Noct smiles back, weakly. 

“She _is_ awesome. She’s one of my closest friends. I just . . .” He shakes his head, as if to clear away a thought or stop himself from crying.  

“Anyway. I have to go to Altissa for the wedding and . . . I was hoping you'd come with me.” 

Prompto doesn't hesitate for a second. “Of course! What?! Yes!”  

Now his smile is genuine, and radiant. Prompto’s always wanted to see Altissa. He’s spent his whole life in Insomnia, except for that one trip that was barely outside the wall. That, and the birthplace he was too young to remember. 

His enthusiasm is infectious and Noctis perks up too. 

“Yeah?! Great!” He raises his hand for a high five, and Prompto delivers. 

"You’ll kinda have to join the Crownsguard though." 

Prompto considers whether this is a bad idea. It probably is, but it’s also the way out he’s been looking for.  

“Whatever, sure!” 

Noctis is beaming. 

Prompto’s heart swells. 

He does a little dance and sings, “I’m goin’ to Altissa! I'm gonna be a Crownsguard!” 

“NO DANCING IN THE BOOKSTORE!” Dex yells the oft-repeated rule at its worst transgressor. 

Prompto ducks behind the end of a bookshelf where his boss can’t see him and shimmies.  

That earns him a laugh from Noctis. “Dork.” 

“You love it.” 

“Yeah . . .” Noctis says, walking towards the door. 

“Goodbye Noctis, give my regards to your father.” Dex blows a kiss as he exits the store, _“Muah!”_

“I will! Bye Dex!” Noctis waves. “Bye, new recruit!” he says to Prompto, with a grin. 

— 

When Prompto arrives at home, his parents are already there. He remembers how it was when he was younger, when he used to open the door hoping to see them, and how his heart would sink when he realized the house was empty.  

Now he gets the same feeling when it isn’t.  

“Welcome home!” His father looks up from the book he’s reading to greet Prompto. 

“Hey,” he says as casually as possible, making a beeline for his bedroom. 

“Hang on a minute.” His mother pats the chair next to her. “How was your day?” 

He doesn’t sit. He leans against the wall and pulls off his backpack, resting it on top of his feet. 

“It was good. I had Sociology of Art. I ran some laps. Then I went to work.”  

“Did you see Noctis at all?”  

Prompto thinks, _There it is_ , huffing out a breath through his nose. 

“Yeah, he came by the bookstore.”  

“That’s nice.” She smiles, and takes a sip from her teacup. “How’s he doing?”  

She sounds like she really cares, but Prompto’s loathe to share any more information than he has to.  

“He’s fine.” Prompto fiddles with the zipper on his backpack. 

His mom raises her eyebrows and gestures for him to go on. 

Figuring that he’ll have to tell them this eventually, Prompto clears his throat and says, “He asked me to join the Crownsguard. I said yes.”  

“What? That’s great!” His father crosses the room and claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll be an amazing Crownsguard.” 

“You will,” his mother agrees. “Does this mean that you’re going with him to his wedding?” 

Prompto’s pulse quickens. There hasn’t been anything in the news about the wedding yet. He’s been checking. He’s not surprised that they’ve already heard about it, though. It’s their job. 

“Yeah. I am.”  

“Good.” She nods thoughtfully. 

He wonders why, exactly, this is good. 

His dad sits down at the table, two teacups in his hands, and gestures for Prompto to join him. 

“Altissa is beautiful in the spring,” he says wistfully. 

Prompto has a bemused expression as he sits at the table and picks up a teacup. “Thanks . . .” 

“I think you’re gonna love it. The cafes, the gondolas!” 

His mother says, “We need to figure out a way to stay in touch while you’re gone.”  

“I can’t just call you?” 

She shakes her head. “It’s too risky to keep using these phone numbers.” 

“But,” she tilts her chin up and says, “we’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.” 

His father claps a hand on his back. “We’re really proud of you, Prompto. You’re learning so much, so fast.”  

Prompto feels a little sick. He forces himself to smile. 

“You know, good things are happening.” His mom refills her cup. “We’re going to be able to do a lot more to help the people on the other side of the wall.” 

He wonders if this has anything to do with Noctis’s engagement.  

“There are peace talks happening now, and it is looking like our country will be able to provide more protection and aid to the people who need it.” 

He realizes that the wedding must have something to do with these negotiations. Lunafreya is from Tenebrae, which is under Niflheim’s control. 

The prospect of peace between Lucis and Niflheim kindles a small flame of hope in Prompto that he won’t have to choose between his family and his home after all. 

“You can help too,” she continues, “from Altissa." 

“Only if you want to!” his dad interjects. “We don’t want to pressure you.” 

She presses her lips together and shoots an annoyed look at her husband. “Of course he wants to help people.”  

Softening, she turns to her son. “Don’t you Prompto?” 

His heart is in his throat. “Y-yeah. Of course.”  

They both smile at that answer. 

“I have an early morning tomorrow.” Prompto rises from his chair, and shoulders his backpack. "I’m gonna go to bed.”  

“Goodnight sweetheart.” His mom stands and kisses his cheek.  

His face is burning as he leaves the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any resemblance to a certain campus bookstore proprietor who I may or may not have worked for are completely intentional.


	6. Bullseye

The other two Crownsguard recruits started weeks ago. They were already way ahead of Prompto by the time he joined them for a last-minute self-defense training before the trip. 

One of them is as big as Gladio. The other is smaller than Prompto, and she’s scary-good with the practice katana.  

He’s sure they’ve been whispering about him all day. 

They’re all sparring with wooden swords in the gorgeous training hall, and Prompto feels like even the suits of armor are silently judging him. 

Sword-fighting wasn’t covered in Argentum family spy bootcamp.  

He falls on his ass for the thousandth time, and hears muffled laughter coming from Noctis’s direction. His best friend has been parked on a bench in the training hall for over an hour, since he finished a lunch meeting with King Regis. 

Prompto over runs over to him when they take a water break.  

“They hate me!” he moans, plopping down next to Noctis and pushing sweaty bangs out of his eyes.  

Noctis looks up from his phone, radiating cool boredom. “They’re probably just jealous.”  

“Obviously.” Prompto takes a swig from his water bottle. “Did you see me out there? Killing it!” 

That makes Noctis crack a smile. “They don’t hate you.”  

“They’re blaming me because you’re here, watching them.” Prompto is exasperated. "It’s a lot of pressure, you know!” 

“I’m not watching them.” Noctis purrs.  "I’m watching you.” 

“Actually, you’ve just been looking at your phone this whole time.” 

Noctis has no retort, because Prompto is right. Instead, he says, “Target practice is next.” 

“Finally, something I’m good at!” Prompto claps. 

“Remember, this isn’t the arcade.”  

He rolls his eyes, “I know!” Then he hands his water bottle to Noctis and re-joins the group. 

The officer—filling in today for Cor Leonis—is giving them a short firearm safety lecture.  

“Argentum! Have you ever shot a gun before?” she demands. 

Prompto grins. “I have the high score for Big Garuda Hunter in 10 arcades!”  

The officer snorts, and moves on with the training. She apparently doesn’t notice that he failed to answer her question. 

She seems tired, and like she doesn’t really want to be here. Training new recruits clearly isn’t her usual job. 

She leads the three of them downstairs to the Crownsguard shooting range, and Noctis follows. 

Prompto falls back and whispers, “Why do you wanna make me the least popular kid at Crownsguard training?” 

Noctis shrugs. “You’re supposed to be guarding me. I have a right to know what I’m in for.”  

“ _Ugggh!_ You're the worst.” 

The shooting range is in the basement, protected by several layers of reinforced steel walls.  

The recruits wear ear protection and take turns shooting at paper targets. 

When it’s his turn in the booth, Prompto makes sure that he misses the first shot by a wide margin. 

The officer shouts, “This isn’t the arcade, kid!”  

By the third shot, he lets himself hit the bullseye. Then he does it again. And again. And again. 

The other recruits stop talking to each other and stare at Prompto, mouths agape. 

The big one says, “Wow.”  

The officer raises her eyebrows and nods. “Nice shooting, Argentum.”  

Prompto is beaming. He feels totally badass for once.  

He looks back over his shoulder at Noct, who’s squinting at him, the corner of his mouth curled in an odd half-smile.  

— 

Freshly cleaned and changed after a long day of training, Prompto leaves the Citadel with Noctis. They step out of the plaza and join the rush-hour crowd flowing through the sidewalks of their city. 

“Let’s get french fries!” Prompto raises his fists in the air, feeling triumphant. 

“Sure.” 

Noctis looks preoccupied. He watches Prompto out of the corner of his eye for several minutes. Then he finally asks, “Wanna tell me why you missed those shots?”  

Prompto stops, frozen in place, in the middle of the sidewalk. “Huh?" 

Noctis takes his arm and gently pulls him out of pedestrian traffic. They sit on a low wall. 

“I was right behind you. You weren’t even aiming for the center of the target those first two shots.” Noctis is squinting at him in befuddlement. “Why?” 

“I dunno.” Prompto rolls an acorn around under his shoe and avoids making eye contact.“I guess I didn’t want to show off.”  

“You’re really, really good.” Noctis sighs. “Since when do you know how to shoot like that?” 

“Since . . .” Prompto looks up at the sky and tries to come up with something to say. “It’s complicated.” 

“What?” Noctis furrows his brow. 

“I can’t really talk about it. Sorry.” Prompto frowns. 

“Why not? What’s wrong?” Noctis leans towards Prompto, looking concerned. 

“I’m really sorry Noct.” Prompto turns toward his best friend. “I don’t want to lie to you.”  

“Were you lying to me six months ago at the arcade when you said you wondered what it was like to shoot a real gun?” Noctis’s voice quavers as he says this. 

“I said that?” 

“Yeah!” 

“I wasn’t lying.” 

“Okay . . .” 

“I learned after that.” Prompto exhales slowly. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. It’s . . . family stuff.”  

_I shouldn’t have said that._   

Noctis stares at him for an eternity.  

“Fine.” 

“Fine?” 

“I trust you” Noctis puts both his hands on Prompto’s shoulders and looks him squarely in the eyes. “You must have a good reason why you can’t tell me. So it’s fine.” 

Prompto relaxes, leaning forward. His heart overflows with gratitude.  

“Thanks, Noct.” 

“Let’s go get those french fries.” 

Noctis slings one arm over Prompto’s shoulders as they walk to the diner. 

— 

It’s getting late, but Prompto doesn’t want to go home. He’s been killing time at Noctis’s place, playing video games and studying. Now he’s alone in his best friend’s bedroom. 

He’s thumbing through a pile of comic books when he finds a small black moleskin journal. He opens it to a random page and reads: 

_Sometimes I feel like the audience watching the movie version of my life, yelling at the screen, “Just say something!” I can’t do it though. Because I’m too scared. And this isn’t a movie._   

Prompto wonders who Noctis is writing about. Certainly not him, he decides. Though he could have written this about Noctis. There’s a dull ache in his chest as he considers this. 

Hearing footsteps, he hastily shoves the journal back into the pile and picks up a magic 8 ball. 

Noctis hovers in the doorway looking amused. “You look like you’re about to throw that at me.” 

“Let’s find out if I am!” Prompto looks down at the toy and reads, “Ask again later.” 

Noctis laughs. “You staying over?” 

He feels a wave of relief that he can avoid his parents’ questioning tonight. “Sure. I’m stealing this pillow.”  

Noctis really has a lot of pillows. 

“Actually . . .” Noctis hesitates. He looks at his feet.  

Prompto holds his breath, hugging the pillow tightly, and thinking _Holy shit! Is he gonna to say I should sleep in here?_

Noctis picks up another pillow. Sheepishly, he concludes, “. . . you should take two. I have plenty.” 

Prompto exhales, and masks his disappointment with a smile. “Thanks, Buddy!” 

He takes the pillows to the living room couch. 

— 

Two days before the road-trip, Prompto’s mother calls and asks him to be home for dinner. She says it’s important. 

When he arrives at the house, exhausted and sore from training, his dad greets him with a hug. 

“Hey, kiddo. I feel like we haven’t seen you in awhile.” He looks at his son with a crooked smile. “You haven’t been around here much lately, huh?” 

Prompto’s laughter is slightly bitter. “Look who’s talking.” 

His father’s face drops. He lifts his hand to the back of Prompto’s head. “I’m sorry we weren’t home enough when you were growing up.” 

Prompto feels tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head and ducks under his dad’s arm. 

“It’s ok. I turned out alright, didn’t I?” 

“You turned out great.” 

His dad pats him on the back and moves to the kitchen where he’s cooking daggerquill rice with hot peppers. 

“Hi Prompto! _Mmhm_ , that smells great!” 

His mother is carrying a small notebook. It looks like the one Prompto found in the secret compartment in the laundry room. 

Prompto washes his hands and sets the table. 

“So, what have you been up to lately?” his mother asks. 

“The usual. Yesterday I took some pictures in the park after Crownsguard training.” 

“Oooh, can I see?” 

Prompto does a mental scan of his photos as he hands the camera over, hoping he hasn’t inadvertently captured any Lucian state secrets. 

“Beautiful!” 

She’s clicking through the photos he took of flowers in the park near the Citadel, brilliant purple and magenta in the late afternoon light. 

“This is cute.” She laughs. 

“No, it’s really not.” 

It’s a selfie with Noctis in the Citadel subway station while they were waiting for a train. Prompto’s making a weird face. He’d delete it, except Noctis looks good. 

“Oh wow . . . what’s this?” 

It’s Noctis in the training hall, suspended in mid-air, trailed by his own glittering, blue after-image. Prompto had been watching him train, trying for days to get a decent photo of Noctis warping. 

“Cool huh? I had to experiment a lot with the shutter speed and aperture to get that shot.” 

“So he can really warp? Like the Kingsglaive?” She hands the camera back to him. 

“Of course!” 

“Huh.” She purses her lips in a slight frown. “Can he really fight?” 

“Yeah! Why’s that surprising?” Prompto is flabbergasted. He’s spent a lot of time watching Noctis train, and thinks his best friend is nothing short of amazing. 

His father approaches with dinner, laughing softly. “Well, if you believe the rumors . . .” 

Prompto narrows his eyes. “People underestimate him.” 

“Apparently!” His mother reaches across the table and scoops rice onto everyone’s plates. 

“So, we have some instructions for you.” 

She tears a page out of the notebook and hands it to Prompto. “This is a key. Hide it somewhere safe.” 

He looks at the long, complicated string of letters and numbers and nods. 

“You can use this to decode messages from us, or to write us messages, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“And I’m talking about notes. Paper. You will get instructions for picking them up, or leaving notes of your own.” 

Prompto is starting to feel dizzy. He tries to focus on the taste of his food, the pleasant burn of chiles on his tongue. 

“So . . .” he asks, “I can’t call you?” 

“You can. But not with the phone you have now.” 

His father chimes in. “You can buy a pre-paid phone on the road. The kind where you don’t need a contract.” 

“A burner?” Prompto’s seen crime shows. 

“Exactly!” His mom smiles and slides a smaller piece of paper across the table. “When you get a safe phone, send a text to this number.” 

He takes the paper. 

“You need to memorize the number and destroy that.” She looks deadly serious. 

“Got it.” 

“Hey, let’s decide what your text will be. So we know it’s you.” He father adds, lightening the mood. 

“Chocobo emoji?” 

“Ha! Perfect!” His dad ruffles his hair. 

“After you send the text, you need to keep the phone on you at all times. We’ll get in touch as soon as we can.” His mom’s smile is uneasy. Something about this feels ominous. 

“Is something going to happen?” 

“No, honey. Nothing is going to happen. We just might not be able to communicate for a little while.” 

She reaches across the table to take his hand, but he pulls away and jumps to his feet. 

“Have you done something? What have you done?” 

“Prompto.” His dad places a gentle hand on his back. “We haven’t done anything. I promise.” 

He sits back down. “Okay . . .” 

“Everything is going to be fine. The treaty signing is in just a couple of days.” He lets her squeeze his hand this time. “We’re just going to be really busy, that’s all.” 

His father says, “We love you, son.” Prompto believes him. 

His voice shakes when he says, “I love you too.” And he really does. 

The problem is that love isn’t always enough.


	7. Home

The day before the big trip, Prompto is officially a Crownsguard. 

The Marshal, Cor Leonis swears him in, and Prompto’s smile matches the sunlight streaming through the windows on the short and meaningful ceremony. 

He still can’t get over the fact that they’ve let him join. 

His slapdash self-defense training wasn’t even close to what recruits normally go through before they’re at this point. But Noctis was on a deadline, and he insisted that his best friend join him on this journey. Nobody was going to argue with the prince. 

So now Prompto gets a uniform and an official Crown-issued smartphone. It’s the newest model, with cutting-edge security features. 

He gets to hang out with Cor the Immortal, and meet the King’s Shield, Clarus Amicita, another living legend. 

As he walks through the halls of the Citadel, he sees everything with new eyes. He’s officially a part of this place now. He almost feels like he belongs. 

Today it feels more hectic than usual. Members of the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive, Citadel clerks and maintenance staff narrowly avoid colliding with one another as they rush about. 

Most of them are not happy. Prompto sees more than a few furrowed brows and downturned mouths. He rounds a corner to see someone crying into their sleeve on a bench outside the restroom. He overhears more than one conversation about the treaty. 

The prevailing sentiment is that King Regis is throwing their families and homes to the wolves. 

He wonders if they’re right. Though, his parents seem to sincerely believe that Niflheim will treat the people out there better than the Crown City ever has. 

Before heading to Noctis’s apartment, he decides to stop at home. 

He wants to try to say goodbye to his parents. Since he left the house early this morning, he’s had a gnawing suspicion that he might never see them again. 

— 

His breath catches like it used to when he opens the door. 

“I’m home!” 

The house is quiet. 

He makes himself a plate of leftover daggerquill rice and sits alone at the table, setting up his shiny new phone. 

Hours pass and they still haven’t arrived. 

Prompto completes some side quests in a game he recently beat. He unlocks a flying car but the totally broken in-game camera makes it so frustrating to land, it’s not much fun. He reverts the car back to normal. 

Then he goes to the laundry room. 

The combination hasn’t changed. When the panel pops open, Prompto hesitates before swinging it aside. 

His heartbeat is the loudest thing in the room. 

The bag is still there. 

They haven’t left town. 

He watches the sun set out the window and pages through the family photo album. 

He decides that his entire childhood wasn’t a lie. In brief, stolen moments, the happy family in the pictures was real. He slips a small picture out of its pocket and puts it in his wallet. 

When the house grows dark, Prompto remembers that he’s supposed to be helping Noctis pack. 

He doesn’t leave his new phone number behind before he heads out the door. 

— 

Prompto never realized just how much of his stuff Noctis has. Comic books, t-shirts, a mixed CD some girl made him in high school, and the fourth disc of a game he never finished. He makes a mental note to steal these things back when Noctis inevitably recruits him to unpack. 

The four of them work until late in the night, arranging all of Noctis’s belongings into cardboard boxes, carefully labeled and organized by Ignis. Then they stay up even later playing video games. 

While he waits for the King’s Knight app to download on his new phone, Prompto wipes the data from his old one. Then he tosses it into an open box marked ‘Miscellaneous.’ 

After the others have fallen asleep, Prompto gazes out the window at his city that doesn’t. He traces every bridge with his eyes, peers down at the activity in the street below Noctis’s building, and wonders at the rippling lights of the wall, held aloft by magic and force of will. 

He asks himself where in the sparkling expanse of Insomnia his mom and dad are, and wonders how long it will be before he sees any of them again. 

— 

Ignis, Gladio and Prompto gather around the Regalia, waiting for Noctis. 

It’s a remarkable car. Sleek and black. Built to last. Prompto has heard that King Regis drove it when he was young. 

Noctis is saying goodbye to his father on the Citadel steps. Their formal send-off in the throne room wasn’t enough. 

Prompto is trying to give Noctis some space, and half-watching their exchange. His heart is flooded with a bittersweet mixture of fondness and jealousy. 

His gaze drifts over to Ignis, who has tears welling up in his own eyes. Prompto smiles and smacks him playfully on the arm. 

Ignis shoots him a sideways glance, annoyed but affectionate. His mouth bends ever-so-slightly into a smile when he sees that Prompto is crying too. 

— 

Leaving Insomnia’s embrace, they pass through the massive city walls ringed with ancient stone kings, and the magical barrier that has stood vigil, protecting them their entire lives. 

The Leiden desert stretches out ahead of them, teeming with unknown dangers and adventure. 

Prompto is giddy. He can’t stop talking. He speculates about the wildlife they might run into and wonders how large and ‘bitey’ the animals, or worse, bugs, are going to be. He rattles off facts he’s learned about the places they’re planning to visit. He rhapsodizes about the landscape as they pass through it. His camera hardly leaves his hands. 

Noctis is used to him, but Prompto’s afraid that he’s getting on the other guys’ nerves. When the car breaks down while he’s driving it, he worries that they’re going to blame him, even though it’s a complete coincidence. 

By the time they finally push the car to Hammerhead, Prompto feels a lot less chatty. 

Cindy, the grease-monkey goddess in charge of this establishment, agrees to repair the Regalia for them. 

While they wait for her to work her magic, Prompto browses the wares. Sure enough, they have prepaid phones for sale behind the counter. 

He checks to see if anyone is looking at him. Ignis is searching for some kind of fancy coffee at the other end of the shop. Noctis and Gladio are outside chatting with Cid, who’s entertaining them with stories about their fathers. 

The guy behind the counter sizes Prompto up. “Somethin’ I can help you with?” 

“Um . . .” 

Prompto’s palms are sweating. 

This is the moment. This is when he has to decide if he’s ever going to communicate with his parents again. 

“Can I get one of those. . . lighters, please?” He feels nauseous. “And a pack of smokes?” A cigarette might help. 

The shopkeeper smiles and shakes his head as he rings up the purchase. 

“Can’t smoke in public in the Crown City anymore can ya?” 

Prompto purses his lips.“Well . . . there is a smoking ban. But it’s just indoors, in public places. And maybe 20 feet from the entrance? And I guess you can’t smoke in city parks anymore . . .” 

The shopkeeper laughs. “Like I said, enjoy yer taste of freedom!” 

“Thanks . . .” 

He passes Noctis in the doorway as he leaves, packing the cigarettes in the palm of his hand. 

Noctis does a double-take. “Hey, I thought you quit. You made me quit!” 

Prompto shrugs and keeps walking, exuding moodiness. 

Noctis lets him go, and whispers to Gladio. “Be nice to Prompto, ok? He didn’t do anything to the car.” 

Prompto used to smoke, briefly, when he was a dumb teenager. Noctis picked up the habit first and peer-pressured him. He quit when he started to get winded after only a 2-mile run. Then he embarked on the long, arduous campaign to get Noctis to quit smoking—tobacco, at least. 

He ducks behind the service station and finds a bucket full of sand that’s already littered with butts. He leans against the wall and lights a cigarette. One slow drag and the smoke is tickling the back of his throat. He feels a rush of lightheadedness and he’s suddenly nostalgic for high school rooftops. 

Letting the cigarette hang from his lips, Prompto pulls the decoding key out of his pocket. He unfolds the paper and holds it away from himself. He lights it on fire and drops it in the bucket. 

Then he takes his wallet from his back pocket and finds the other, smaller paper that his parents gave him. He hasn’t memorized the number. He doesn’t even look at it before he tosses it into the flames. 

Then he pulls out the photograph. 

In it, he’s probably 4 years old. They’re all posed in a department store photography studio with a forest green curtain for a backdrop. He’s in a blue sweater vest and matching bow tie, neatly combed hair and glasses. His mom is wearing a burgundy skirt suit with shoulder pads. His dad has a grey sweater vest and a tweed jacket. They all look so happy. 

He was happy, back then. He was happy because they were lying to him. 

Now he’s sure that he’ll never see them again. 

He clicks the lighter and holds it close. The little flame licks at the corner and catches. With a gasp, he drops the lighter and shakes the photo to put it out, but not before his shoulder and part of his round, freckly childhood face are consumed. 

He brushes off the crumbling bits of blackened paper and ash, and continues staring at the photo while he finishes his cigarette. Then he slips it back into his wallet. 

He leaves the rest of the pack behind, for someone else to find. He doesn’t want Noctis to be tempted. 

He wipes away tears with the back of his glove and takes the long way around the service station to rejoin his friends at the car, good as new. 

He hops in the front passenger seat. He doesn’t let his best friend see that he’s been crying. Noctis would want to know why. 

— 

When Insomnia falls, each of them tries to reach out and make contact with those they’ve left behind. 

It’s hard for Prompto to meet his friends’ eyes. 

He calls his parents from the hotel lobby. All of their phone numbers are disconnected, which doesn’t surprise him. He had to try anyway. 

They can’t trust what they read in the newspaper or hear on the radio. Niflheim is spinning it like they’re keeping the peace. 

There are reports that Noctis, Lady Lunafreya, and King Regis have all died. Since Noctis made it out, they try to hold out hope that his father and Luna also survived. 

Prompto and Noctis hold one another, unselfconsciously, totally bewildered and consumed with grief. 

Prompto is sure his parents knew about the attack before it happened. What haunts him is the question of what role they played. He wonders if they took part in the violence. He hopes there’s a chance they tried to stop it. 

He doesn’t know if they’re alive or dead. He’ll probably never find out. 

He didn’t choose where he came from, and he didn’t choose his family. Prompto has chosen Noctis, and he’ll do anything and everything he can to keep his best friend safe and fight to take back their home.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I saw FFXV Brotherhood, I thought to myself: "What's the deal with Prompto's parents? Are they maybe spies?" After playing Episode Prompto, I thought to myself: "Yes. Yes they are spies."
> 
> I am also a big fan of The Americans, so a lot of this story was heavily influenced by that show. Prompto's parents may as well be Philip and Elizabeth Argentum.
> 
> Thanks and credit to the folks on the FFXV Subreddit's [discord server](https://discord.gg/ffxv), especially the mods, with their encyclopedic knowledge of canon, for chatting with me about this theory and other minutiae related to the FFXV universe.


End file.
